


fucking asshole.

by richietrashmouthtozier



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, all stuff that's been featured in the show but please be careful <3, and a homophobic attack, discussion of homophobic slurs and a referenced suicide attempt, f slur is used once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 17:20:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21461692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richietrashmouthtozier/pseuds/richietrashmouthtozier
Summary: '“Fuck you, Jens.” He says, and this time, he means it. He can tell Jens knows it, too, by the way he stands up and points his finger at him from across the table.“Bro, what the fuck is your problem?” Robbe stands too, feeling his anger bubble up and knows he’s close to losing control of himself.“What’s my problem? Where do you want me to fucking start, Jens!”'
Relationships: Robbe Ijzermans/Sander Driesen
Comments: 8
Kudos: 369





	fucking asshole.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to see Robbe scream at Jens so that's exactly what I wrote. Set on the Sunday night after the party scene and the attack. Please check the tags for trigger warnings!

Robbe stares down at his beer can and wishes he was anywhere but here, sitting at his own kitchen table while the Broerrrs drone on about one of theirs last hookup. Robbe doesn’t know whose; he stopped paying attention awhile ago.

He snaps back into the conversation when he hears Jens say his name. “Robbe, how are things with Noor? I saw you two talking at the party last night.” Robbe rolls his eyes. _Ah, yes, _he thinks bitterly, _the party where my boyfriend cheated on me and my ex-girlfriend confronted me about being gay._ Aaron sucks in a gasp dramatically and Moyo wiggles his eyebrows at him.

“You finally gonna fuck her?” 

Robbe scoffs, and can’t shake his feeling of wrongness. He doesn’t really think when he says, mostly to himself, “you’re such a fucking asshole, Moyo.” 

“I’m an asshole? What the fock?” Moyo retorts, laughing slightly and surprised at the seriousness in Robbe’s tone. He doesn’t say anything, just goes back to fiddling with his can, scowling. 

“Just leave it,” he hears Jens say to Moyo. “He’s been in a bitchy mood all the time recently.” 

“Fuck you, Jens.” He says, and this time, he does mean it. He can tell Jens knows it, too, by the way he stands up and points his finger at him from across the table. 

“Bro, what the fuck is your problem?” Robbe stands too, feeling his anger bubble up and knows he’s close to losing control of himself.

“What’s my_ problem_? Where do you want me to fucking start, Jens!”

“What the fuck are you talking about—” 

“I’m gay!”  _And there it is_. 

Robbe sees Jens’s face change from one of anger to confusion. Some part of him knows that he loves this, loves seeing Jens pissed off and unsure because it’s exactly the way he’s felt for so goddamn long. 

“Wh—what?” 

“I’m fucking gay, you fucking asshole.” 

Jens’s face contorts again, hardening back into anger. “How would I know that? You never said anything!”

“When the fuck was I supposed to tell you, Jens?” He’s full on yelling now, and he’s kind of relishing in it. “In between all the talk about boobs and sex and pussy and fucking? Before or after you made fun of my sexuality, or let fucking Moyo call me a fag all those times? Or, last week when I tried to tell you about the guy I’m in love with, expect you weren’t listening? And told me to just have sex with a girl I clearly wasn’t into instead? When was I supposed to tell you?” 

Robbe takes a deep breath, but can’t stop himself from continuing. Once he had started talking, it was like he couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold it in anymore. Everything he had bottled up in the last weeks—his hurt, his rage, his fear—bubbles up in his stomach. “You’re a shitty fucking friend, Jens. I was struggling and you knew that, and you just let it happen.” Jens opens his mouth to respond, but Robbe quickly cuts him off, not wanting to hear whatever it is he had to say. “I mean, fuck! Why do you think I moved in here? No one thought to ask that of me? 

He pauses, panting and seething with anger. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes while he clenches and unclenches his fists in an effort to calm himself down. The pause is long and tensely silent. Jens’s face is unreadable, but Moyo’s brow is furrowed and his mouth a hard line, jaw clenched tightly, while Aaron looks between all three of them with a stupid look on his face. Robbe continues, no longer yelling but speaking calmly and coldly to the three that, likely after tonight, he knows he will never speak to again. 

“My mother’s been institutionalised for schizophrenia and my father’s a fucking dickhead who kicked me out.” He lets his words settle in the air before he continues. “Wanna know something else? I wasn’t beat up like, randomly. This?” He pulls up his shirt, revealing the deep bruises that darken the skin of his stomach and side. “They saw me and Sand—my boyfriend kiss. And they didn’t like that.” His voice grows softer and cracks with emotion; it’s clear that he isn’t angry anymore, just deeply and irrevocably hurt. His voice wavers as he struggles to get out what he needs to say to them.

“They called me the same names you guys did, when they pounded my head into the sidewalk. So yeah, Moyo, I think I’m okay to call you an asshole if you think it’s okay to call me a faggot_._”

The ugly word reverberates around the kitchen and is met with stunned silence from the three other boys. “There was so much shit happening in my life and I—” Robbe is full on crying now, and, wiping a mixture of snot and salty tears with his sleeve, he turns away from them. Gripping the countertop with both hands, his back to the boys, he finally says what he needed to. It isn’t a satisfying feeling. “—I wanted to kill myself because I liked boys, and you just played right fucking into it.” 

His body heaves with sobs and he can’t quite control his breathing. He quietly feels himself slip into an anxiety attack. He can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t stop crying. 

“Robbe—” he hears a soft voice say next to him, and feels a hand grip his shoulder. _Jens_. Robbe violently tears his arm away and slides along the countertop until he puts physical space in between himself and them again. He knows he looks a mess—his hair messy from pushing his hands through it, his body shaking as he sucks in air quickly, and his face red and damp from crying. They all look at him expectantly, and it is obvious they don’t know what to do. 

“Can you get out now.” He says shakily, not quite trusting his own voice. Jens takes another step towards him.

“Robbe, what—” 

“Get the _fuck_ out of my house.” 

No one makes a move, still unsure of what to do. Robbe’s heart breaks a little bit more as he hears his voice crack when he quietly utters a “please?”

Aaron is the first to get up, followed by Moyo who mutters something under his breath as they walk into the hallway. Robbe can hear their quiet shuffling as they put on their coats and shove shoes onto their feet. 

Jens is the last to leave, hovering in the doorway and staring at Robbe. He seems more confused than anything, like he doesn’t understand what is happening, and that’s what hurts Robbe the most: that Jens _still_ doesn’t get it. But he really needs to cry in peace, so he just glares back until, with a final look back at Robbe, Jens leaves wordlessly. 

Robbe breaks. 

He slides to the floor, and, pulling his legs into his chest and burying his face in his hands, he allows himself to really lose it. He cries for his lost friends, for Sander, for Noor, for his mom, but mostly for himself. His emotions feel like waves and he’s a drowning victim. Like they’re quicksand and he’s being buried alive by it. He cries for himself mostly because he can’t _not_ anymore. He cries because he is not in control anymore, and mostly he cries because this feeling just fucking sucks. 

“Robbe?” A soft voice says. He looks up at Milan who is standing hesitantly in the kitchen doorway, a hand lightly touching the doorframe. Robbe hiccups and runs a shirt-covered hand across his cheek. 

“We have thin walls. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Milan pads over to where Robbe is sitting on the floor against the cabinets, and plops himself down next to him. He looks at Robbe, and says genuinely, “or let you know that you will be.” 

He takes Robbe’s hand from where they’re tightly wrapped around his knees, and rests his head on his shoulder as he rubs circles onto Robbe’s hand with his thumb. Silent tears still spill down Robbe’s face but his heart-rate has slowed and he isn’t hyperventilating anymore. Milan tries not to notice, just offers him his quiet support until Robbe is ready.

After some time, Milan speaks again, low and soft and still rubbing his palm with his thumb. “Robbe? What do you say we watch some shitty Youtube videos, cuddle and have a sleepover in my room tonight, eh? Sound good, baby gay?” 

Robbe blinks at him, his eyes puffy and red-ringed, and nods dumbly. He rubs a hand down his face and feels numb. Like he’s cried out. He can feel his exhaustion in his bones, and lets himself be led into the quiet, warm space of Milan’s room. Milan hugs him and, despite his tiredness, Robbe can appreciate all the sentiment—the love, the support—that his gay-guru/weird-pseudo-dad puts into the hug. Before sleep takes over him, he thinks about how grateful he is that he has them—all his flatmates—in his life. Everything in his life looks brighter for a second as he slips under. 

Milan wraps another blanket around him when he falls asleep. 


End file.
